1831, the situation of assistant to a shop-keeper in Stonehaven, and
soon afterwards proceeded to Dundee, where he was employed in the office
of the _Dundee Guardian_ newspaper, and subsequently as clerk to a
respectable writer.

Grant furnished a series of tales and sketches for _Chambers's Edinburgh
Journal_. In 1834, he published a second small volume of "Poems and
Songs;" and subsequently, in the same year, committed to the press a
prose work, entitled "Tales of the Glens," which he did not, however,
survive to publish. After an illness of fifteen weeks, of a pulmonary
complaint, he died on the 14th April 1835, in his thirtieth year. His
remains were interred in the churchyard of Strachan, Kincardineshire,
where a tombstone, inscribed with some elegiac verses, has been erected
to his memory. The "Tales of the Glens" were published shortly after his
decease, under the editorial care of the late Mr James M'Cosh, of
Dundee, editor of the _Northern Warder_ newspaper; and, in 1836, an
edition of his collected works was published at Edinburgh, with a
biographical preface by the poet Nicol.

Of a fine genius, a gentle and amiable nature, and pure Christian
sentiments, Grant afforded eminent promise, with a prolonged career, of
becoming an ornament to literature. Cut down in the bloom of youth, his
elegy has been recorded by the Brechin poet, Alexander Laing--

"A kinder, warmer heart than his
Was ne'er to minstrel given;
And kinder, holier sympathies
Ne'er sought their native heaven."

THE BLACKBIRD'S HYMN IS SWEET.

The blackbird's hymn is sweet
At fall of gloaming,
When slow, o'er grove and hill,
Night's shades are coming;
But there is a sound that far
More deeply moves us--
The low sweet voice of her
Who truly loves us.

Fair is the evening star
Rising in glory,
O'er the dark hill's brow,
Where mists are hoary;
But the star whose rays
The heart falls nearest,
Is the love-speaking eye
Of our heart's dearest.

Oh, lonely, lonely is
The human bosom,
That ne'er has nursed the sweets
Of young Love's blossom!
The loveliest breast is like
A starless morning,
When clouds frown dark and cold,
And storms are forming.

LOVE'S ADIEU.

The e'e o' the dawn, Eliza,
Blinks over the dark green sea,
An' the moon 's creepin' down to the hill-tap